


Change Your Mind (Just One Kiss)

by calligraphypenn



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Mildly dubious consent re: kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calligraphypenn/pseuds/calligraphypenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris using his lyrium around Anders has a rather spectacular effect. However, Anders being Anders has a rather spectacular effect on Fenris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just One Kiss

Hawke had avoided _ever_ taking Anders and Fenris on missions together, which perhaps was wise. But it was several years into their acquaintance when she had shown up with Varric and Fenris in tow, at his clinic, and Anders had looked at her askance—her merely shrugged in response. Anders supposed that with Isabela gone, he was being called in to pick up the slack.

Thus when they rounded a hill and saw the Tal Vashoth in the distance, Marian nodded decisively and pulled them out of sight.

“We ready for this?” she said. Varric said something witty, Anders nodded, his mind worlds away, but ready to cast. And Fenris---

Fenris lit up like a Satinalia firecracker, and Anders' vision went white.

He dropped his staff, and staggered. His knees went weak, and his vision blurred, maybe even passing out for a moment. When he came to, his head was pressed up against the crumbling earth of the cliff face, Marian was crouched in front of him, and Fenris was still glowing.

Anders pointed at the elf. “Stop,” he gritted out.

The blue light flicked out, and Marian looked between them, aghast.

Anders closed his eyes, partially to gather his wits and partially because he wasn't sure he could keep them open.

A heavy hand settled on his shoulder. “Blondie, we're gonna go handle those Vashoth, and you sit here and...uh...”

“Contemplate why the Maker hates me,” Anders said. His voice was reedy.

“Mage, are you in pain?” Fenris demanded.

Anders almost wished he was. He could feel a flush rise from beneath his collar. He kept his eyes determinedly shut.

He felt Varric remove his hand after a moment.

 

* * *

 

“Why doesn't it effect Merrill, I wonder?” Hawke said, back in Varric's suite.

 “Can we stop talking about this now?”

“What did it feel like, Anders?” Merrill asked, her eyes wide and filled with worry.

“Careful, Daisy,” Varric said with a laugh, but Anders had enough.

“Like drinking lyrium,” he said shortly. “And being struck by a lightning bolt, at the same time.”

Merrill was nodding earnestly, and Marian and Varric were chortling.

“You left out the part where--” Marian said, all faux-helpful, when Anders flung up his hands and got to his feet.

“You left out the moaning and the passing out,” Marian yelled as Anders fled.

Anders made his way to the stairs, when a cough caught his attention. Fenris was leaning on a doorframe to one of the Hanged Man's rooms, and it looked like he was stifling a laugh. Laughing in general was something he did little in Anders' presence.

“Yes, laugh all you want,” he snapped. “I Imagine it's nice to have a way to shut me up whenever you'd like. So convenient! It's what you've always wanted.”

Fenris' eyes narrowed. “If only it worked on mages other than just you,” he rumbled back.

Anders felt a surge of cold blue fury in his gut, and, letting his anger get the better of him, he stepped forward into Fenris' space.

“If you ever use your Blighted lyrium tattoos on me again, I'll remind you why mages are feared,” he hissed.

Fenris' eyes narrowed, and in a flash he gripped Anders by the collar and dragged into the empty room. The flailing tip of Anders' boot caught the door and slammed it behind him. Anders struggled to get his footing, but Fenris lifted him by the front of his coat—Holy Maker—and glared, shaking him like a terrier.

“I will never fear you ever again.”

And he lit his markings.

This time, Anders didn’t get a reprieve, and the jittery, electrical feeling pooled in the base of his stomach. He gasped, all thoughts flying out of his head and he wanted, he wanted but he didn't know what. He brought his hands up, and they were weak, nerveless. But he slid them up to Fenris' neck—this had to stop, he told himself, he was weakening, his legs shaking--but as soon as his hands met the lyrium lines, the feeling in his gut resolved itself. Into desire.

His eyes met Fenris', and he saw the realization there, and felt the elf set him on his feet hurriedly. But before Fenris could move away, Anders grabbed him by the shoulders and dipped his head into a decisive kiss, moaning against Fenris' slack mouth.

In his addled state he could tell that Fenris was unresponsive, but his lips were warm and tasted rather pleasantly of the Antivan amberwine that Varric unearthed. Fenris gasped a little, and his markings dimmed. Boldly, Anders slipped him some tongue—he was going to die anyways, he reasoned.

Had Fenris never been kissed before? His markings had gone completely dark, and instead of holding him roughly, the elf melted against Anders, who was cautiously delighted. It felt like the field had evened itself out—apparently Fenris' brands turn Anders into a puddle of goo, but all Anders was going to have to do in the future is make obnoxious kissing faces at Fenris to shut him up. In his confidence, he brought up both his hands to Fenris' face and deepened the kiss. He chased Fenris' gasp with his tongue, and he could feel the action shake Fenris to his core.

Kissing was something he practiced assiduously in the Circle, and he loved it, loved the innocence of the act, the vulnerabilities it revealed. Anders broke away for a brief moment, but only to get a better angle, this time softly kissing the corners of Fenris' mouth before delving back in. As he did the sounds Fenris made, probably unwittingly, were heartbreaking. Broody babies indeed. Anders revised his plan. This impromptu encounter was too sweet to be used as a weapon against Fenris. He'd maybe just smirk at the elf.

 He slowly used one of his thumbs to stroke at Fenris' lip, opening up his mouth a little wider. His other hand he slid to the back of Fenris' head, tilting it this way and that. Fenris' arms were crushed against Anders' chest, but other than the instinctive twitching of gauntleted fingers occasionally piercing his shirt in reaction to a good nip to his mouth, the elf was still. Scratch that, the elf was getting heavier and heavier, leaning on Anders, forcing himself closer, forcing him to take more and more of his weight. Anders doubted if he could pick the elf up for any extended duration of time, but surely he could manage a few steps to the bed. But Anders was foolhardy, and not actually a fool, so he kept his hands off Fenris' tempting body and focused on giving the warrior the kiss of a lifetime.

 Anders' head had been slowly clearing, and it was surely time to prepare to fend off a clawed hand in his chest cavity. But Fenris' eyes had slid shut at the kiss, and he looked up dazedly at Anders as he stole one last peck and stepped back.

 Still got it, Anders thought smugly, when Fenris' eyes hardened.

 “Take off your clothes,” he hissed at Anders, who, despite the peril his life was surely in, could not help feeling even more gleeful.

 “Is that how this is going to work?” he teased at Fenris. Fenris, in his lovely long tunic, with his mussed thistledown hair, whose lips were wet and red and whose chest was heaving in obvious desire.

 In response, the elf simply looked at him. Then reached out, taking Anders' arm gently.

 Then lit his brands again.


	2. Change Your Mind (NSFW)

The room Fenris had chosen thankfully had a bed. Anders lay on it, a quivering wreck, staring up at the ceiling, and Fenris was taking off his gauntlets.

 “I don't know if you know how this is done, Anders, but taking off your clothes is a good first step,” he said acerbically.

 Anders blinked in outrage, but he was harder than he'd ever been in his whole life, so he dragged himself upright with a groan and began taking off his boots.

 He hesitated, on taking off his shirt, but shrugged and whipped it off anyway. Fenris, down to his leggings now, took a deep indrawn breath—Anders supposed for good reason.

 Anders' left side was, in a word, horrifying, with a red twisted burn scar that spanned down to his waist and a deep cavity that despite all healing remained a purple-red valley over his heart.

 “Venhedis,” Fenris said, but he looked—impressed. It was enough to make Anders shrug and lean back on the bed. He smirked and trailed his fingers down his chest, fingertips skirting the edge of the scar.

 “You _would_ like something like this,” he goaded. “Are you going to kiss it and make it better?”

 Fenris moved to kneel over him on the bed, and at a shrug from Anders, he trailed his own lyrium lined fingers over the depression.

 Then, in one of the most surprising things Anders had ever seen, he bent and kissed the edge of the scar.

 Anders' brief indrawn gasp drew Fenris' eyes, and Anders grimaced, trying not to show how moved he was. But he could feel his mouth twist helplessly into a smile, and his eyes droop into what Hawke uncharitably called “the wet cat out in the rain look.”

 “I appreciate it, but it would take a lot of kisses to make that better,” he said, softly. Then, in an attempt to salvage the mood, he snatched up Fenris' hand and impulsively, let his mouth fill with healing energy.

“Anders, what are you--”

 Fenris' voice trailed off as Anders licked a wide stripe up the lyrium of his hand. His tongue left a line of shimmering blue, and Fenris exhaled shakily.

 Anders knew that healing magic felt good, a fact that he'd exploited before. But it seemed to have a different effect on Fenris, as he traced the thick lines up the elf's fingers. Fenris was watching him with wide eyes, and his hand was shaking slightly under Anders' ministrations.

 Fenris pulled his hand away after Anders had delicately licked at all the lines there. He flexed it with some perplexity, making Anders laugh from where he lay beneath Fenris.

 “Good? Bad?” he asked.

 Fenris lifted his head and his lips quirked, more confidently, as he'd been earlier.

“Good,” he stated. “It feels—warm. And prickly.”

 “If you liked that,” Anders said, “Then you're going to love what I'm going to do next.”

 “What—oh,” Fenris said, as Anders unlaced his black leggings.

 “One—one moment, Anders,” Fenris said. Anders paused, and took his hands away, letting Fenris sit back on his haunches. Anders kept his hands to himself, pressed to the bed. One didn't have as many partners as Anders had without learning some manners and decency.

 “Is this—because of the lyrium brands, that you are so uninhibited?” Fenris said. Anders blinked, since the possibility hadn't occurred to him. ”I would not force you into anything you do not also desire.”

 “I promise you I'm in my right mind,” he assured Fenris. “Think of this as working through our differences.” Although it was strange that he felt none of his usual reluctance for closeness with another, how he felt and acted these days could surprise even himself. Anders felt his hand lift and stroke over Fenris' lyrium-traced hipbone with great gentleness. Ah, well. Justice had always liked lyrium.

 “Is that what this is?” Fenris said. He quirked an eyebrow then, and it was a delightful sight for once, rather than an infuriating one. “We have a great many differences to work through, Anders.”

 “One thing at a time, Fenris!” Anders chided, and coaxed him upwards, sliding the leggings the rest of the way off the elf's legs.

Fenris seemed a bit inexperienced, but instead of being gawky and jerky, he instead watched everything with bright eyes, undoubtedly noting every movement. When Anders took him into his mouth, the elf's body curved like a bow above him, and Anders couldn't help but smooth his hands up to the small of Fenris' back and press him deeper.

 Fenris was shaking above him, kneeling above his mouth as Anders kissed and sucked, and it wasn't long before Fenris came, soundless gasps racking his body.

 Anders purred—it had been so long since he'd been this close to another, and even though his own arousal ached through his leggings, he was already lost in the haze of pleasure that had been his only escape for so long.

 Fenris shifted down his body, and green eyes met his as he was still licking his lips. Anders teased at the waistband of his leggings, waiting to see what Fenris would do.

 He didn't have to wait long—the elf stopped his hand and moved it away, and with deft movements he had tugged Anders' leggings down just enough to free his cock—then stopped.

 Anders looked up in mute supplication, but Fenris merely smirked back.

 “Did you know I could do this?” he said, raising up one hand slightly, and oh _Holy Maker_ only the lyrium on his hand glowed, and Anders could feel a flutter of the overwhelming energy that had already coursed through his veins twice that day. He didn't know what kind of expression crossed his face then, but it must have been a sight because Fenris smiled victoriously. And Anders was a fool for thinking that the elf's inexperience made him any less dangerous, any less _confident._

 Then without further ado Fenris gripped him, and Anders almost arched himself off the bed,

 It was _good._ It was more than good. As Fenris began to move his hand, Anders flung his arm over his face, overcome. An arm snaked under his waist, and pulled his waist up even more, and finally Anders could bear to look at Fenris. As soon as his eyes met Fenris' wide, green eyes, he groaned. The elf's pale hair was dampened at the temples, and his ears were drooping slightly as he watched Anders intently, kneeling between his legs with Anders spread out before him like a feast.

 “Sit up,” Fenris commanded, and when Anders kept gasping like a landed fish instead, Fenris hauled him up to face him, his hand still sliding over Anders' dick inexorably—until he stopped.

 “Fenris, please,” Anders moaned, but all Fenris did was drag Anders' legs behind him, and pulling him close. The elf's eyes had lowered, and as Anders dazedly tried to catch them again, he realized what Fenris was doing—Fenris was staring at his mouth. Intently.

 “Do you want me to kiss you?” he said roughly. “All you need to do is ask, Fenris.”

 Fenris huffed, and his hand found Anders' cock again, though this time it was much harder to stroke him in between their bodies.

 Anders couldn't forget it—how Fenris had sank into the kiss, how heartbreakingly rumpled he'd looked after, the press of him, almost trusting, against his chest. He wanted--

“Kiss me, Fenris,” he said, and in response the elf only twisted his hand, making Anders moan and drop his head onto Fenris' shoulder. It seemed only natural then to wrap his arms around Fenris' neck.

“Fenris, please,” he murmured against the elf's shoulder. He was close, but--

Fenris leaned heavily on him until he fell back onto the bed, and slanted his mouth over Anders'.

Anders groaned, not even caring who heard anymore, and drew his hands though Fenris' hair before clasping him close. It only took moments before he was coming, and Fenris stoked him through it, until Anders was shaking and oversensitive.

“That's—enough, Fenris, please,” he finally had to say, and watched as the glow from Fenris' hand dimmed.

The room was strangely quiet, though the raucous shouting of the taproom drifted faintly through the walls. Fenris rolled away from in between Anders' legs, and let his feet fall to the floor.

Without the venom usually passed between them, left behind was a faint embarrassed awkwardness. Anders stared at the ceiling for a moment, then rolled over on his side.

Fenris' back was to him.

Anders lifted one hand and traced a delicate line of healing magic along one of Fenris' tattoos.

Fenris gave a startled breath and twisted to look.

“Maybe lock the door,” Anders suggested.

 

* * *

 

_Some months later..._

 The weather had changed from fall to Kirkwall's moderately cooler winter, and the rain was drumming on the roof of Fenris' mansion, plunking into various pots around Fenris' bedroom.

Anders was curled up against Fenris' chest, with Fenris' arms cradling his head. Fenris had long since awoken, and was absently rubbing one strand of Anders' hair between his fingers, crumpling it then smoothing it out again. It was late in the morning, by the sounds of the Chantry bells.

The reverie was broken by a pounding at Fenris' door.

Anders awoke immediately, and the two of them stared at each other for a tense moment before Anders leaned over him and snatched up his staff from the floor. Anders stayed where he was, his body angled over Fenris—protectively, Fenris realized in dawning anger, and he moved to shove the mage off of him--

“Fenris, let Anders out of bed already!” Hawke bawled from behind the door, and Anders relaxed so quickly that Fenris _oofed_ at the weight of one very naked mage suddenly plastered against him.

“Seriously, Fenris, I don't care what he can do with “sparklefingers” or whatever Isabela keeps talking about but no one's seen him in two days and it's Bone Pit Day! I need him!” Hawke yelled, rattling the door handle.

Anders whimpered at the mention of the Bone Pit, which helped Fenris decide.

“Go away, Hawke,” he called out.

“Fenris!” Hawke said pathetically.

Anders sighed and rolled off of Fenris.

“Coming, Hawke,” he said.

Fenris laced his arms around Anders' waist and pulled him close again.

“Fenris,” Anders said resignedly, which turned into a moan as Fenris kissed him, lapping into his mouth.

“No!” Hawke said from behind the door. “That's it, I'm going to get Varric to unlock this door.”

Both of them heard Hawke take the stairs down, with a sound like she was rattling the hilt of her sword against the bannisters of the staircase on the way down— _clack clack clack clack._

“Do you think she's serious?” Fenris said.

“Half an hour there and back, that's more than enough time,” Anders said, before sitting up and pushing him deeply into the cushions, kissing him back and insinuating a thigh between this legs.

_Clack clack clackclackclackclack--!_

“Last chance before I go and get three and a half feet feet of dwarven voyeur!”

“Go away Hawke!”


End file.
